Page 65 of The Heir
“I am your valet, my lord.” Stenson bowed low. “Of course I must needs be in your quarters.”
“You will stay out of here and busy yourself with Lord Val and Colonel St. Just instead.”
“Mr. St. Just?” Stenson might as well have said:That bastard?!But Dev would have great good fun putting Stenson in his place, so Westhaven added a few more cautions about the bad form exhibited by the lower orders when they couldn’t be bothered to knock on closed doors, and took his leave.
When he returned to the library, he did not immediately begin to list the furniture he’d ordered for Willow Bend. He instead wrote out an order to have all the interior locks above stairs changed and only two sets of keys made—one for him and his brothers, one for his housekeeper.
Sniffing his cravat, for God’s sake. What on earth could Stenson have been about?
The question faded as Westhaven spent two hours arguing good-naturedly with his housekeeper over matters pertaining to Willow Bend. That was followed by an equally enjoyable dinner with both of his brothers, during which he realized he hadn’t dined with them together since Victor had died months before.
“Will you two help me with my horses?” Dev pressed when they were down to their chocolates and brandy.
“If you insist.” Val held his snifter under his nose. “Though coming up from Brighton has left me honestly saddle sore.”
“I’ll be happy to pitch in, as Pericles can use light duty in this heat, but if I’m to be up early”—Westhaven rose—“then I’d best seek my bed. You gentlemen have my thanks for keeping Mr. Stenson busy, though I don’t think he was exactly pleased with the reassignment.”
“My shirts will be pleased,” Dev said. “It’s mighty awkward having to always wear one’s jacket and waistcoat because one’s seams are all in jeopardy.”
“And I found every mud puddle between here and Brighton just to make sure Mr. Stenson was gainfully occupied.”
“I am blessed in my brothers,” Westhaven said, leaving them with a smile.
“So tell me the truth,” Dev said, pushing the decanter at his youngest brother. “You are willing to ride with us because you think it would be good for Westhaven. Just like his housekeeper has been good for him.”
Val smiled and turned his glass around on the linen tablecloth. “It will be good for all of us, being together, living here, even if it’s only for a little while. I find, though, that I’ve sat too long here in the evening breezes.” He got to his feet and quirked an eyebrow at his oldest brother. “Shall we stroll in the moonlight?”
“Brother”—Dev grinned—“I have heard rumors about you.”
“No doubt,” Val said easily as they moved off. “They are nothing compared to what one hears about you.”
“And that gossip is usually true,” Dev said with no modesty whatsoever as they neared the mews. “Now why are we out here stumbling around in the night?”
Val turned and regarded his brother in the moonlight. “So I can remind you not to make disparaging remarks about Mrs. Seaton or her situation with Westhaven where anybody could overhear you. You know what the duke tried to do with the last mistress?”
“I’d heard about Elise. Then you are aware of a situation between Westhaven and Mrs. Seaton?”
“He’s considering marrying her,” Val said. “Or I think he is. They’re certainly interested in each other.”
“They’re a bit more than interested,” Dev said, rubbing his chin. “They were all but working on the succession when I came upon them in the library last night.”
“Ye gods. I came upon them in her sitting room this afternoon, door open, all hands in view, but the way they look at each other… puts one in mind of besotted sheep.”
“His Grace will be in alt,” Dev said on a sigh.
“His Grace,” Val retorted, “had best not get wind of it, unless you want Westhaven to immediately lose all interest.”
“Gayle wouldn’t be that stupid, but he would be that stubborn.” Dev tossed a companionable arm around Val’s shoulders. “This will be entertaining as hell, don’t you think? I’m not sure Westhaven’s wooing is entirely well received, and he has to go about it in stealth, winning the lady without alerting the duke. And we have front-row seats.”
“Lucky us,” Val rejoined. “Doesn’t working on the succession comport with welcoming a man’s suit?”
Dev’s grin became devilish. “That, my boy, is a common misunderstanding among the besotted male sheep of this world. And the female sheep? They like us befuddled, you know…”
“It’s a speaking tube,” Val explained. Morgan quirked an eyebrow at him, and he smiled reassuringly. “A lot of invalids take the sea air in Brighton,” he went on, “so the medical community is much in evidence there. I discussed your loss of hearing with a physician or two, and I’ve brought it up with Fairly, as well. He’d like to examine you, though he isn’t a specialist in the field of deafness.”
Morgan tried to keep her emotions from her eyes, but it was difficult, when her eyes were so used to conveying what words could not. She was more than a little infatuated with this man, with his kindness and generosity of spirit, his acceptance of her disability, his care for his brothers and sisters. He was what a brother should be—decent, selfless, thoughtful, and good-humored.
“Will you let me try it?” he asked, holding up the tube. It was shaped like an old-style drinking horn, conical and twisted. He gently turned her by the shoulders and pushed her hair aside. Morgan felt the small end of the tube being anchored at her ear.
